


The Key to his Hart

by Portponky



Category: Kingsman (Movies)
Genre: Breaking and Entering, Crack, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-17
Updated: 2017-07-17
Packaged: 2018-12-03 04:13:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,857
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11524326
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Portponky/pseuds/Portponky
Summary: Harry helps Eggsy come out of his shell by teaching him the ways of the spymaster, but things become dangerously sexy when dark powers appear in the bone zone.





	The Key to his Hart

Harry Hart walked past the stalls of Camden Market whilst gobbling up his last packet of tangy cheese Doritos. He wanted cool original flavour, but they didn’t have any in the vending machine at the underground station so instead he’d bought three packets of tangy cheese and a bottle of Lilt, which had a competition he wanted to enter.

As he wiped his orange-stained fingers on a lace handkerchief which he threw into a nearby dustbin, he was suddenly overwhelmed with the smell of eggs from a nearby egg salesperson. His mind spun around in his head and he recalled he had to teach his adopted son, Gary Unwin, more tricks of the trade. He rushed back to the office, but not before picking up six dozen eggs as a quick snack for the journey.

At Kingsman HQ, Gary was sitting and waiting in the waiting area. As Harry strode in, Gary tidied up his colouring-in book and waved. “Hi Harry!” he yelled, yelling his head off.

“Please,” said Harry, “whilst we’re at the office we must use our codenames. And please, instead of calling me Galahad, call me Galadad.”

Gary completely ignored him. “What spy skills are you going to teach me today?”

Harry lead Gary through a series of doors, lifts and tunnels deep into the underground chamber under Kingsman HQ. This was the testing zone, where special equipment for teaching spies was stored. He opened a door which revealed a large chamber full of standing doors of various kinds.

“Wow,” said Gary, “are these doors portals to other places, like in my favourite movie, Monsters Inc.?”

Harry tried to look disapproving despite the fact he thought that would be awesome. “No,” he said, “each of these doors is locked with a lock. A spy must be able to unlock even the most pesky of annoying locks in mere moments.”

“I can get through a bike lock in under ninety seconds,” said Gary, without a hint of shame in his voice.

“Right,” said Harry. “Regular spies and locksmiths use a technique called lockpicking. Using various tools, called picks, they can confuse the inner mechanism of a lock and cause it to open.”

Gary looked around at every single table he could see. “I don’t see any picks.”

Harry took a deep, never-ending sigh. “That’s because we’re not going to be lockpicking. We’re going to be using an ancient technique, invented by the royal family of England. It’s… indiscrete, so please understand, what we do as spies is purely for kingsman and country.”

Harry approached one of the nearby doors. It was a large oak door, well veneered and with high quality machine-lathed edging. He glanced round at Gary, who was sometimes known as Eggsy, then looked at the door and steeled his nerve. He placed one hand on the door, and stroked it gently up and down the grain, observing its sturdy wooden qualities. With his other hand, he unzipped his fly and popped out his dong dong.

Like a jackhammerer he rammed his donger into the keyhole and started blasting away like tomorrow was coming straight away. Within a few seconds, the door slammed open.

“What was that?!” yelled Gary, yelling.

Harry sighed heavily over the sound of his nib nob dripping on the ground. “That,” he said, “is fuckpicking.”

“Oh,” said Gary, “I thought it would be called lockdicking.”

Harry rolled his eyes.

Over the next few hours, he taught Gary the basics of fuckpicking. Although it seemed vulgar, Gary quickly took to it and was soon blasting different kinds of budget doors open. The whole process was draining, and on some level deeply erotic. Harry decided to end the training with a treat.

He lead Gary to the end of the chamber, where a large cast-iron gate from the front of an old estate had been mounted. It was held fast by a large mortice-style deadlock, which was thick and wide and hard like iron because it was made of iron.

“This is the front gate from Castle Dracula,” explained Harry, “and it’s possessed by a wizard. Only the best fuckpickers in the world are able to open this gate. I am one of only three who have managed it, and I am the only one who is not a member of the royal family.”

He took some deep breaths, and unleashed his bonger. After insertion, he hammered away at the lock, mashing it with a series of vigorous hip-thrusts. The seconds ticked away, and after a few minutes he began to sweat. Sparks of electricity were shooting from the lock, and parts of Harry were visibly on fire.

The ground started to shake. An interdimensional vortex opened from the lock and started to pull Harry in. He turned to Gary and tried to shout for help, but he was sucked into the vortex which disappeared into the lock. The room fell silent. Gary urgently put on some clothes and fled.

He ran up the tunnels and around the place and all over the HQ until he found the one person who could help him: Merlin, aka Mark Strong. He burst into Merlin’s bedroom and found him hurriedly trying to close browser tabs and pull up his trousers. “Quick,” said Gary, “and don’t bother with the trousers. It’s Harry.”

“Arr, matey, what be the problem? Be his life in peril?” asked Merlin very scotchly.

Gary explained what had happened and before he could finish, Merlin was off like a flesh-coloured flash. They both ran down to the door chamber, cocks akimbo. The gate to Castle Dracula stood ominously at the end of the chamber, and they approached it cautiously.

“What do we do?” yelled Gary, terrified and excited.

“Sshhh,” said Merlin, “it be our fate to fuckpick the gate with nary a rough touch, but be it upon our heads to work as one crew lest we unleash the horrors stored neath the gate itself and salt our watery graves.”

Gary didn’t really understand the dialect, but he knew what they had to do. They approached the gate from either side, and both schlonged it at the same time. If they were going to fuckpick it open, they needed to act quickly, but also slowly so they didn’t make a mistake. They had to be gentle, but firm, but also fast. It was an intense logic puzzle on several plateaus that they were trying to both solve in a shared mindscape whilst spitroasting an iron gate.

Time passed. They wrestled with the gate, with each other’s bongleys, and with their own inner demons. Sometimes they locked eyes, sharing powerful gazes, but other times they closed their eyes in deep concentration. Gary didn’t know how much time had passed, but it must have been several ages. Eventually, as they held hands over the gate and hammered it relentlessly, it emitted a loud click and came loose. They disentangled themselves and the gate swung open.

“Where’s Harry?” asked Gary, catching his breath.

Merlin raised his finger and pointed. Everything was dark, and Gary noticed that they were no longer deep underground, but in an edgeless void. At the edge of the void, a mighty castle faded into reality. “It be like my favourite movie,” said Merlin, “Monsters University.”

“Ugh,” said Gary. They approached the castle and opened the door, which was not a portcullis. The inside was quite old-fashioned, with unwallpapered brickwork and arched doorways. The central heating would have cost a fortune if it didn’t exist in an interdimensional sex dimension. The main atrium lead to many rooms, with traditional artwork, tapestries and period-appropriate drapery. It was probably a listed building.

They went directly to the throne room, only stopping at one of the bathrooms because Merlin needed a shower to freshen up. As they stepped into the massive room, they heard the cackling laugh of the maniac wizard who inhabited this hellscape. He sat on the throne, chuckling over a glass of red wine. Aside from his oversized popped collar and wizard’s cape, he was dressed in the manner of a fine gentleman. His pale skin and glowing red eyes added to his lusty physique.

“Velcome to Castle Dracula, zis is a busy day indeed. Please, make yourselwes at home,” he smirked with a fangy grin, and pointed to the side. The pair looked over and saw Harry, handcuffed to an elaborate candelabra and gagged with duct tape. It was a surprisingly modern method of restraint.

Gary glanced at Merlin. They had a mini-conference. “You’re both scottish, you’re both wizards. You fight him whilst I unlock Harry,” said Gary. Merlin responded with a hearty cheer, and set about the enemy wizard with a barrage of punches and kicks.

Dodging knives, axes and medusa heads, Gary quickly ran to Harry and ripped the duct tape off his mouth. “Ouch,” screamed Harry, because it really stung his stiff upper lip.

“I can get you out of the handcuffs, Harry,” said Gary, beginning to tear up, “but I’m shy, because if I fuckpick them, you’ll feel everything. I don’t know if I can do it.”

Harry became gentle. He wiped away Gary’s tears, but not with his hands because they were handcuffed. Instead he wiped them with the top of his head. “Don’t worry,” he said, “everything that’s we’ve been through has prepared me for this moment. You could say, I’ve been looking forward to it.”

Gary didn’t understand, but only because it didn’t make any sense. He unwobbled his pobber and was about to nervously ease it into the handcuffs, when Merlin shouted his name. Before he could react, he was hit with an energy blast from the enemy wizard, who Merlin immediately punched in the face with his fist. Gary was knocked down and rolled away. Luckily, eggs always roll in circles, so he rolled right back to where Harry was. He got up and plunged his wanger right into the handcuffs without hesitation. Harry gasped.

It only took a few thrusts before the lock clicked off. Gary, dizzy with emotions and physically exhausted, collapsed to the ground. The last thing he saw before he blacked out was Harry and Merlin kicking the shit out of a wizard.

Gary woke up in his bed in his own bedroom. He was wearing his favourite power rangers pyjamas and his bed was freshly made. Harry came in with a tray full of boiled eggs in individual eggcups. “You’re awake,” Harry said, “are you doing well? How are you feeling? You were out for two days.”

“I’m fine,” said Gary, “tired, but fine.”

Harry smiled warmly. “You did a wonderful thing, back there. I’ll never forget what you did. Eat your breakfast and rest up. We’ve got a busy day tomorrow. I’m going to teach you an ancient method of stealing items from an unsuspecting victim’s pocket. It’s a variation of pickpocketing invented by esteemed members of the Royal Society of London, called pickfucketing. I believe Isaac Newton himself was quite a master of it.”

“Shouldn’t it be called dickpocketing?” said Gary.

Harry nodded and smiled a wry smile with his face. “Perhaps,” he said, “perhaps.”


End file.
